Old Smith

His skin,

of pale grey colour,

imbedded with thick,

light blue veins

Resembling

large greedy maggots.

Tunwulf always alone,

in his dust clad office,

windows closed to keep in

his continuous flatulence.

Alone in his office,

full the damp,

pungent unbearable air,

for him alone to breathe.

The phone rang,

under a pile of paper,

and a soiled handkerchief,

peppered with dry slut…

He picked up the

receiver with his

bony hand, his lips,

automatically shaping

into a smile.

A smile showing the few

heavily decaying teeth,

with a mouth full of

screechy voice.